


And The World Still Spins

by ChildOfTheDragon



Series: For Your Entertainment [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Angry John, Attempted Kidnapping, Bad Decisions, Drunkenness, Emotional Manipulation, Gay John Laurens, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John is very salty, M/M, Oblivious Thomas, Past John Laurens/Lafayette - Freeform, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, drunkenmess, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23702848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChildOfTheDragon/pseuds/ChildOfTheDragon
Summary: John is having one hell of a bad day.
Relationships: Thomas Jefferson/John Laurens
Series: For Your Entertainment [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1093791
Comments: 37
Kudos: 34





	And The World Still Spins

**Author's Note:**

> OH HEY, IS THIS THAT NANOWRIMO STORY I SAID I WAS GUNNA POST AT THE END OF NOVEMBER?! WHY, YES, IT IS!! BETTER SIX MONTHS LATE THEN NEVER, RIGHT? MAYBE IF I START WRITING THIS YEARS NANOWRIMO PROJECT NOW I COULD ACTUALLY HAVE IT DONE ON TIME!
> 
> Okay, okay, so I know this is late as hell, but high key for real, I hope it was worth the wait. I'm so sorry if Thaurens is your favorite ship, this is sooooo NOT a warm fuzzy Thaurens story. It's....a dumpster fire. Like hooo boy, is it a mess. This takes place before FYI, so John's roommate at the end is NOT Alex; just a random guy John won't interact with past here. 
> 
> I really don't know what to say about this anymore, as I've been hitting my head against a wall for FIVE MONTHS trying to get it in order, sooooo, just, if you have any questions ask way in the comments and I'll gladly answer them.

John turned off the lights to the kitchen, grateful that the day was finally at an end.

God, it had been so busy, complete with a late night rush of club crawlers who wanted the greasy comfort of fried food to settle their stomachs before they drunkenly wandered back to their homes in the wee hours of the morning. But the dinner and late night rushes were only the tip of the iceberg to the shit day John had been plagued with that evening. As he was busy chopping more salad lettuce during their dinner rush he accidentally slipped his finger under the blade and cut himself, freaking out the second line cook working with him when he saw all the blood. Everything John had been working on had to be tossed, it's waste documented on their waste chart, and the cutting board and knife had to be thrown in dish while John cleaned the wound and bandaged it as best he could with the barely sufficient first aid kit hanging on the kitchen wall and hope the band aid would hold. Already the cut had bleed through that he could tell the pad was soaked in it and he'd need a better one when he got home, thank GOD it at least stemmed the blood and of course the rubber gloves he was required to wear would act as a further barrier.

The dishwasher had broken earlier that afternoon before John had gotten in, so every single dish had to be washed by hand in near scalding water and then rinsed and soaked in sani-water. Then John had discovered that one of the sinks was slowly dripping all it's contents onto the floor when he was bringing a stack of plates back to their station and slipped on the water running out onto the floor. He'd managed to catch himself on the sink, though the sacrifice for that had been all the plates as they shattered on the floor around his feet, and slamming nearly his whole upper body weight down onto the sink's edge had definitely bruised a rib if the pain in his chest was anything to go by. God damn it still hurt, and it hurt even more when he lifted his right arm above his head or breathed in too deep.

Then Angelica had told him in the middle of his scrubbing off the grill at the end of the night that someone had thrown up in the men's bathroom and since it was her, him and Elphaba closing down that night, he was the lucky bastard that got to clean up that mess as well, since the bar was open for another hour after the kitchen shut down and usually they couldn't get the patrons out for another two and a half anyway. Whoever had hurled their heart out hadn't even finished digesting the meal John had made for them, and he'd missed the toilet.....entirely. There was just a puddle of vomit in the middle of the bathroom floor. At least they had been kind enough to try to hide the mess by putting down an ENTIRE ROLL OF PAPER TOWLES over it. Mostly John just had to pick all of that up, again god bless the rubber gloves he had from his work in the kitchen, then get a new roll of towels and mop up the rest of the floor. Didn't make it any less disgusting tho. And there was just nothing he could do about the smell, but then, John also knew from personal experience men's restrooms weren't blessed with the best smells to begin with.

To top everything off, the morning opener hadn't restocked or prepped anything for John, and the co-worker he'd started the night with had to leave early to catch a certain bus, so half his shift was scrambling to get side work done while still running the kitchen, and by the end of the night there were still a lot of things that they didn't have backed up on the line that they just _needed_. Now, John could have just written an angry note to the same opener about what tasks he would need to get done and dump all that work back onto him, but honestly, John was far too neurotic about how his kitchen needed to be. Yes, _his_ kitchen. John didn't give one single flying fuck if he was only there three shifts a week, or if he shared it with five other guys, or if he was the newest hire since the school year started again, this was his first job, he cared about it maybe a little too much. He put his heart and soul into every meal he sent out, he took pride in keeping the place organized, clean, well stocked and rotated, and god damn everything to hell the day John Anthony Laurens did not do everything in his human power to reset everything back to normal so that his co-workers couldn't be pissed at him for “slacking off.” He had his standards, and as far as he was concerned he was going to care for this kitchen as if it were his own child. Angelica told him on her way out that no one would think less of him if he didn't, they knew how hard he worked, but John wasn't hearing it. He was going to finish the damn side work and she relented to let him do that, minding him not to stay too late and to make sure to set the alarm when he was done and turn off the lights.

So as John typed in the code to set the alarm, pressed the button and got an error message, he almost wanted to cry. But he wasn't really that surprised. Just one more shit cherry on top of a shit sundae, he supposed. He pulled out his phone and texted Angelica, hopeful there was some trick he just didn't know about. She texted back that no, as long as he followed the instructions she wrote for him he should have been able to set the alarm and get the hell out of dodge. She also told him just to forget it, that the doors were locked from the inside anyway and no one could get in. The alarm was meant to scare an intruder off if they smashed a window, but the likelihood of that actually happening were slim, she told him. John felt like if ever there was going to be a night when someone _would_ break in, tonight would be it and then it would be his fault for not setting the alarm and he'd be in trouble when they burned the whole building to the ground. She reminded him that the cameras would catch any criminal activity and urged him to go home and get some rest so, after angrily trying the same code two more times and getting the exact same error message, he finally gave up and decided that's exactly what he'd do.

John pulled his hair out from the bun he'd tied it up in and let his dark curls spill over his shoulders and around his face as he stepped out into the cold early December night air. He was in the process of single-handedly messaging out the tension he'd had all day as he checked his phone, _**Goddamn is it really already past four in the morning? Oh, Laf texted me...guess I'll Skype him tomorrow...**_ , when he heard someone call out his name. He looked up from his phone and was only mildly surprised to see Thomas leaning against his truck in the otherwise empty parking lot. He sighed and tried not to roll his eyes into the back of his head; of course this day had to throw one more thing at him.

John never knew what to make of Thomas. Sometimes he pretended John was invisible or worse, just flat out beneath him to talk too; like Thomas was some high class socialite that John should be so lucky to be allowed to bask in the mere presence of his glory. Other times he seemed to want too much of John's attention, and had no issues giving John a hard time if he didn't get it, like a spoiled child who figured that negative attention was still attention. Which would have been annoying enough if it weren't for all the other weird little shit he did; the way he put his arm around John as they left the movie theater with Lafayette in tow once and pulled John too close for comfort, the way he'd gotten behind John to show him how to shoot pool and placed his hands on hips that weren't his to touch, sly I-know-something-you-don't smiles as his eyes flicked up and down John's body from glances given out of the corner of his eye. Coupled with the _extra_ weird gestures, like forcibly buying John's lunch a handful of times before or just showing up places with food when John was hungry and giving him some “extra” meal he'd bought, claiming he didn't know it was something John really liked; pulling him along by the hand through some haunted house at a carnival Lafayette had dragged them both too (and then weirdly ditched them for no good reason); showing up at John's place of work with flowers and chocolates because he'd gotten into a fight with his girlfriend and decided he'd pawn the gifts he was gunna give her off to another guy rather then one of the mulitude of girls he was talking to on the side. Nope, John couldn't figure Thomas out at all. He wondered if he even wanted to tho.

The one constant thing John had noticed in Thomas's behaviors was a superiority complex so big it could crush the entirety of Texas under one inflated buttcheek, with farts to spare, and honestly the last thing John wanted right then was to have to dance around the overcompensating ego he not only carried around but flaunted every chance he got. Thomas was a friend of a friend, and NOT someone John considered the kind of company he'd like to keep, but since the guy knew someone John cared for more then this stupid restaurant, and since that someone had said he wanted John and Thomas to be friends, and since Thomas couldn't understand how to just tell that someone they were getting along great without actually bothering the shit out of John all. The. Fucking. Time. Well, it meant John had to _actually_ interact with him and _try_ to get along. He sighed and started toward Thomas, mumbling out a curt, “what do you need?”

“God, took you long enough,” Thomas replied. “What in the world were you doing back there? I had to talk to your co-workers to make sure you didn't sneak out the back way. I thought you got off at 2?”

“Some stuff came up,” John said, “and I had side work I needed to get done. What are you even doing waiting out here for? You look like a creep.”

“Oh excuse me, I was in the area and I figured you might like a ride,” Thomas snarked back.

John would have loved a ride, from anyone but _Thomas_. Aside from being conceited and stuck up, John also found him misogynistic, and just a little bit of a homophobe on top of everything else; though he'd at least stopped using the word faggot around John after he'd threatened to sock Thomas's lights out for it if he said it one more time, and then followed through when Thomas leaned in close and repeated the word just to antagonize John. Ahh, the joys of being from a southern state. Honestly it was a wonder to John that Lafayette even considered Thomas a friend. Like, how the fuck did a guy who called anything he didn't like gay somehow become friends with the man John had watched climb onto a table to out right grind against another guy on multiple separate occasions? Of course, John realized there was a touch of hypocrisy to that thought; after all, he was from a southern state as well and had hardly given Lafayette any criticism over befriending _him_ during his own sexuality repressed school years. Maybe Lafayette just had a kink. Find the one guy in town who wanted so desperately to be seen by everyone around him as straight he'd literally lick the ass of every woman in town if it would prove exactly that, and then slowly work them over across the line of sexuality until they couldn't deny they wanted the dick so bad it broke their poor little minds and shattered their oh-so-fragile and yet toxic hyper masculinity and pushed them to the edge of their sanity. Not that John was convinced at all that Thomas was _gay_ , well not strictly anyway as the guy had a different girl on his arm every other week and he clearly enjoyed showing them off and playing with them, but John was just hoping he'd get to be there sipping tea the moment Thomas had to admit to himself he also wanted a great big dick in his ass instead of the stick he kept there that made him insist he was strictly straight.

“I can walk,” John ground out. And he _could_. He did, every day for every shift and every class. If it was too far to walk, then he took the bus. John's parents believed it would build character for him and is four siblings to get through their early college years struggling just a bit, but not too much. They paid for nearly everything except the nice fluffy extras. According to them, if John wanted the convenience of a car he was expected to figure out a way to pay for it himself, because there was nothing wrong with his legs or public transportation otherwise. But the catch 22 of that was simply that once you acquired the means to pay for nice fluffy extras, you didn't get so much money from mummy and daddy anymore. Oh, they still paid for some things, just, you had to pay for as much as you could on your own first and let them make up the difference then. His sister Martha had figured that out last year for everyone when she decided to get a part time job to pay for her own apartment rather then stay in the dorms. She said it wasn't that bad but the thought of letting his parents actually see everything he was spending his money on so that they knew he was paying bills first terrified John to no end. There were....charges...on a card he had in his name only that he absolutely did not want them to find out about, as well as the deposits of every single paycheck he'd received from this job for the last few months. John would have been honest with them, if he didn't desperately need a fat stash of cash and a plan for when he finally decided to break the news to them about their precious eldest son being a great big queer. Ahhh, the _joys_ of being raised in the _south_.

“Hey, I'm trying to do something nice for you here,” Thomas's voice cut into his thoughts. “And you know, I've been out here nearly freezing my ass off for two hours to do it. The least you could say is 'Thanks Thomas, you're the best!' as you hop in.”

“I didn't ask you to do that.”

“Well I did. So c'mon, get in the truck.”

“Hold on,” John said putting his hands up. “Who said I was going anywhere with _you_?”

“John, it's nearly five in the morning and negative 90 fucking degrees; just get in the truck and quit acting like a little bitch.”

“You're a bitch.”

“Why do you always give me attitude whenever we hang out?”

“Oh, I give _you_ attitude? That's rich, coming from your egotistical ass. But if you _must_ know, it's because I only consider you a friend as long as you and Lafayette have an interest in playing with each other,” John replied. “You'll get sick or bored of him eventually, then leave, and he'll bury his hurt feelings in the next person who finds him fascinating all over again.”

“I told you, it's not like that,” Thomas said. “Heh, though he certainly has a way of dressing that could almost change my mind. Yo, out of curiosity, what did you ever see in him anyway? I mean, if you like a guy like that why not just like, ya know, do it with a girl, huh?” He punched John's arm lightly but was surprised when John grimaced and moved away. “What?”

“Don't fucking hit me!” John barked at him. “I slipped and fell today and this side of my body still fucking hurts, you ass!”

“Well, I didn't know that!” Thomas cried defensively. “I'm not a mind reader, John! Don't act like a girl on the rag for shit I can't control!”

John rolled his eyes. He knew Thomas was right but he didn't like the way he said it. He also knew he was biting because he was tired and grouchy and that it didn't matter if it was Thomas or someone he actually liked, he probably would still be acting like an aggressive little shit. “Look, I just want to go home, take a shower and go to bed, alright? I'm mentally done for the day and I really don't have the capacity to deal with people for much longer.”

“Okay, so let me give you a ride.” And there was that weird smirk of a smile again. The one John swore he'd seen on Thomas's face just before he'd say something stupid like— “Maybe even let me help you with that shower, huh?”

“Excuse me?” John ground out from under a glare. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

Thomas snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh c'mon John, are you so desperate for a boyfriend you'll believe I'd actually shower with you? You wish you could be so lucky to see what's under these clothes, Hahaha!”

John stared at him with a silent glare. “You already sent me a picture of your dick once, you fucking walnut.”

“I told you that was an accident! Your name was next to the name of this other girl I was sexting at the time, I got them mixed up, okay?” Thomas recovered from the flustered air he slipped into and smirked again at John. “But you know, it's still okay if you used that picture to jack off too; I know I'm kind of a big deal, just hope it wasn't too intimidating for you. If you're really into guys like you say then I'll bet it was a real treat to get a look at a real dick for a change, huh?”

“You are a real dick. A big one.”

“Well, what can I say except you're welcome.”

“......................I'm going home.”

“Yo, I said I'd give you a ride!”

“It's a 15 minute walk.”

“And like a five minute drive. You just said you were tired, so what? Too tired to talk to me but somehow NOT to tired to WALK back to your dorm?”

“You are _draining_ what little energy I have left, Thomas!”

“So let me give you a ride and it won't matter, right?”

“Can I just be allowed to be alone?”

“Can I just be allowed to help you sometimes?”

John closed his eyes and sighed. He had a feeling if he walked home he would have to contend with Thomas following him at a snails pace, harassing him to just get in the truck the entire way there. He didn't want that, and he really didn't want to fight...he also didn't really want to walk back to his dorm when he was so god awful tired as well. And in pain. And it was cold out. God, how had December crept up on them so fast? It'd only been a week ago that he'd gone home to see his family for Thanksgiving and in a few more weeks he'd be back at his parents house for the winter break, this time with his entire extended family and the thought zapped more strength from him. John just wanted to go to sleep, he was so emotionally done. Thomas was right. John _**hated**_ that Thomas was right. “Okay, fine,” he relented. “But just, don't talk to me for the duration of the ride, okay?”

“Well okay,” Thomas said as he opened the driver's door he was leaning on. “If you insist."

He did roll his eyes at that but only as he walked around the truck to climb into the passenger side. Thomas popped the door open for him and John climbed into the cabin, putting his bag on his lap and reaching for the seat belt. At least the ride would be short and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes as Thomas started the car. That stupid rap musical about Thomas's uber great grandfather came on but surprisingly he picked up the iPod hooked into the aux cord and switched the tunes to some kind of slow piano and saxophone melody. “Jazz, really?” John asked cracking open an eye to peer at Thomas.

“It's called chillhop and I figured you'd appreciate it more then my grandfather's musical, unless you want me to put that back on?”

“No, this is fine,” John replied. Surprisingly in the few short minutes it had been playing he found it to be preferable. Chillhop huh; maybe Thomas didn't have such terrible tastes. He closed his eyes again and leaned back in the seat, focusing on releasing the tension that he'd kept in his shoulders and neck all day. As soon as the heater clicked into blowing warm hot air John started to feel better. The rock of the vehicle was soothing, the warm heat enveloping him a welcome comfort he hadn't even realized he'd wanted until he had it and would hate to give up when they got back to his dorm.

It was a long moment before John opened his eyes again, realizing the car ride was taking too long for a simple ride back to his dorm. He looked out the window to see streetlights passing by on a road he wasn't familiar with. John sat up and became mildly alarmed by the new information, eyes darting over the details of buildings as they passed and his mind frantically trying to recall if he'd ever been this way before. No, he hadn't. He almost exclusively stuck to the college campus, there was never a reason for him to venture too far of off it. “Thomas? Where are you taking me?”

Thomas glanced over, sly little smirk on his face, but didn't say anything.

“Seriously, where the fuck are we going?” John pressed. When Thomas shrugged and pointed to his lips, miming zipping them shut, John let out a frustrated grunt. “Okay fine! You Can Talk To Me! Tell Me Where You Think You're Taking Me!!”

“Oh, nowhere special,” Thomas said, “there's just this little place I want to show you.”

“You said you would take me back to my dorm!!”

“I said I would give you a ride. I said no such thing about taking you home.” John started unbuckling his seat belt. “But I Will Take You Home Just After We Check Something First!!”

“Check. What?” John growled.

Thomas immediately stopped the vehicle and put it into park, throwing on his hazards in case anyone came up the quiet street behind them. He turned to face John with a serious look to his eye and calmly said, “Look, if you wanna get out and walk home I won't stop you. But I don't think you want to do that, cuz it'll take you something like two hours to hoof it back to campus now.”

“ _TWO HOURS?!_ ”

“Ooor! You could come see what I have to show you,” Thomas calmly stated. “For fifteen minutes. Then I _will_ take you right home. C'mon, it's not like you were gunna do anything else with your night anyway, right?” He smiled in a smug way, as if he'd been cleaver and won some sort of complicated debate with facts and logic. John decided he deadass did not care, however, and simply popped open the door and jumped out of the truck, to Thomas's complete shock and horror. “Wait—JOHN!! Are You Mad?!”

“YES!!” John said as he whirled while he threw his backpack up over his shoulder and caught the door. “I'm mad that you didn't take me home like you _implied_ you would!” He slammed the door behind him and began to make his way back from where they came from. Pulling out his phone, John quickly realized his phone was now dead, and that alone nearly sent him popping off at Thomas again even though it wasn't exactly _his_ fault.

“You don't even know where you're going!” Thomas called after him.

“Then I'll Figure It Out!!” John hollered back at him.

Thomas growled in frustration and threw his truck in reverse, allowing it to roll backward until he caught up with John again and rolled down his passenger window. “John, get in the truck.”

“No.”

“ _Please_ get in the truck?”

“NO.”

“You know I am just going to follow you all the way home.”

“You are such an unbelievable ass. I can't even fucking believe you did this too me.”

“Look, I wanna spend time with you, okay? Is that a crime?”

“No, but kidnapping a person sure is.”

“I didn't kidnap you. I'm not holding you anywhere against your will, John. And frankly, you're acting like quite the little bitch right now.”

“Oh fuck you!” John yelled to the heavens. “I specifically told you I just wanted to go home and go to bed, and instead I find myself god only knows where at damn near five o'clock in the fucking morning, freezing my ass off as I gotta walk for another TWO HOURS to get home!!”

“So get back in the truck and stop acting like an over dramatic queen.”

“Are you going to take me home?!”

“That isn't fair, John. I'm asking for your friendship here and you won't even give me a chance.”

“Oh, boo-hoo, poor Thomas. Not everyone loves you so much to throw themselves at your feet.”

“I find it hard to believe that you could honestly hate me as much as you pretend you do.”

“I find it hard to believe that you're anything but a fucking asshole, and I'm right because look at where we are.”

“Why are you like this? Who hurt you?” Thomas asked of John though his voice came off as far more snarky then empathetic. John bristled at him.

“None of your fucking business,” John retorted.

“Was it Laf?” Thomas deadpanned at him. “Are you so pissed off that he dumped you that you're just going to run off every other guy who tries to get close? Cuz I was under the impression that you weren't straight, soooo that seems a little counterproductive, doesn't it?”

“Fuck you, Thomas.”

“You know, maybe that's what you need, a good, hard dick down from a guy. Have you not been bent over at all since Laf left you two years ago?”

“Fuck. Off. Thomas.”

“No, I'm being serious here, John. This is waaaay beyond unhealthy what you're doing. You think you can just put up these walls and keep everyone out and wait for him to come back and save you from a life of loneliness, but you know what? That's never going to work. And you know it. You're never going to get over him if you don't move on and be with other people, John.”

John refused to look over at him, refused to make contact, and refused to blink away the tears blurring his vision. He knew if he did any of those things then Thomas would be right, and he was NOT going to let Thomas be right about anything, ever.

“John, I don't know why you feel so threatened by me but can we cut the crap? I genuinely think you're a person I'd like to get to know better and it kinda hurts you don't think the same of me.”

“Well, get used to it!” John snapped. Frustrated that he'd been dragged who knows how many miles away from the town and his dorm, and that Thomas was doing exactly what John didn't want him to do on his walk home from work, John slammed his hand against the side of Thomas's truck, forgetting that it was the one he'd cut into earlier that day. He swore as he clutched at his now dully throbbing hand.

“Did that help anything?” Thomas asked him.

John stopped his furious march and turned toward Thomas's truck as it pulled to a stop. “WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME, HUH?! DO YOU GET SOME KIND OF SICK TWISTED PLEASURE MESSING WITH PEOPLE, IS THAT IT?!”

Thomas considered him carefully before replying in a calm and level tone, “No. I was trying to take you someplace where you could relax for a little bit, where _maybe_ we could bond a little as friends. But okay John, you win.” He rolled up the window, put the truck into drive and set about turning it around. For a brief moment John worried he would just drive off and leave him stranded, but Thomas pulled up beside him again, this time rolling down his own window. “C'mon, get in. I'm not gunna leave you, and I'm not gunna let you walk home neither.”

John stared at him for a moment, trying to figure the Virginian out. But he wasn't sure what choice he really had. A two hour walk was the very last fucking thing he wanted to do, especially as the cold set in more around him. “Just....” he sighed and shook his head, almost not believing he was gunna give Thomas another chance. “Why not just ask me if I wanted to go with you to...wherever you were trying to take me?”

“Cuz you woulda said no.”

“You don't—” John started to say but quickly realized Thomas was right about his assumption that John would have turned him down flat. “—know...what...I would have said...” But Thomas only raised a brow at that and John hated how his face heated up under that look. “If...you had asked me on a Wednesday!!” he attempted to finished lamely.

“I work Wednesday evenings,” Thomas said. “Tho, clearly not as late as you do on a Monday. Just get in the truck, John.”

John sighed feeling like an ass as Thomas rolled his window back up. The man looked so damn dejected and pissed or not John felt bad about how everything had developed between them. Maybe Thomas wasn't a bad guy. John just...well, he _was_ scared to get close to anyone ever again after what Lafayette had done to him. Not that Thomas wanted to be close to him like _that_ , ha, no....maybe the guy was queer in some way, but like, not as gay as John. Thomas was like the kind of guy that slept with women and anything that looked like a woman and that was his way of saying he wasn't really gay. He was attracted to an aesthetic, an aesthetic John certainly didn't have so, what was John so worried about anyway?

Okay, no, Thomas was still an ass. That was John's issue with him. His back and forth behaviors, his weirdo looks and smiles, his use of certain words that pissed John off...these were all things he reminded himself he disliked about the guy, even as he climbed back into the passenger side of the truck. “Okay look,” he said with a sigh as Thomas moved his hand to the stick shift. “I'll give you 15 minutes to show me whatever you wanted to show me. But this place better be worth it.”

“Thirty.”

“What?”

“You jumped out of my truck, you made me turn around, now you're telling me you'll go along with my plans? I want 30 minutes, John.”

“What? No! Fifteen, that's what you asked for, that's what you get. I'm not bartering with you on this, this is stupid.

“An hour.”

“Ten,” John countered.

Thomas laughed. “Boy, you really think you could last that long?”

“What, ten minutes?”

“Pfft, ten hours. I'll take you up on it if you want, I know what I'm doing.”

“Five _minutes_!”

“Fourty-five minutes, finally offer,” Thomas said. He leaned closer to John with that know-it-all smirk that said he knew he was about to get what he wanted and added, “Take it or I'll drive you home and you can spend the rest of the week wondering where in the world I was gunna take you. Going once!”

“That is three times the amount that you originally asked for!” John said.

“Going twice!”

John hated this, he hated what Thomas was doing. Because now he wanted to know, and he knew Thomas was banking on that, banking on him agreeing to his terms. “Wait, you said I'd have to wait all week, do you intend to take me back out there next Monday if I don't say yes now? Are you gunna pull another stunt like this?!”

“Last chance John! Final offer!

“Wait—”

“On the table!”

“Wait!”

“Going—”

“Okay! Fine! I Agree!! Have Your 45 Minutes!!” Because John didn't want to get dragged out god knows where next week too. Ugh, he was so mad at himself for giving in like that, but whatever, if it would get Thomas off his ass, then fine. “God!! You're such a fucking asshole!!” he yelled as he fished out his charger to plug into Thomas's car. At least if he needed to call a cab, he could do so once his phone had enough charge to make the call.

“Heh, I though you liked fucking assholes, John?”

“Shut up! Just Shut Up!! I take back what I said about allowing you to talk! Shut your mouth until we get wherever the fuck you're taking me!” He bristled again as Thomas chuckled and set about pulling the truck back around again to continue the way they had been headed before John's fit. But if John expected a long moment of silence to stew in, he was disappointed yet once more as only a few minutes later Thomas pulled the truck off the road, swung it around again, and backed up for a few feet before stopping. John looked around and saw nothing different then the woods he'd seen when he'd gotten out of the truck before.

“Where are we?” John asked as Thomas parked the truck and pulled the keys out of the ignition.

“A more private lookout point then the lookout point that all the teens go to to make out at,” Thomas replied. “Stay here where it's warm; I still gotta set something up.” John rolled his eyes and settled into his seat, then jolted when he felt Thomas's lips press against his cheek. But the other man was already climbing out of the truck and slamming the door behind him before John could process anything to say. John rubbed at his cheek and told himself the kiss didn't mean anything. Thomas was just trying to get under his skin.

The truck rocked when Thomas climbed up into the covered truck bed, and John sat silently grouching to himself in the cab. He was counting this as part of Thomas's stupid 45 minutes, and so far it wasn't at all impressive. Why the fuck had Thomas dragged him all the way out here? To _bond_? Couldn't they do that someplace inside with a fireplace and blankets and a beer—

Something whirled to life behind John, a machine of some kind clicked on and he turned around to try and see what the hell Thomas was doing. But there was a curtain covering the back window of the cab's truck. The hell? Then some kind of soft light came on, then the colors changed until they were a soft magenta glow, and John could see Thomas's silhouette against that curtain. A moment later the curtain lifted and the other man's face appeared right next to John's, smiling at him. “You wanna come back and see what I got for you?”

“Do I have too?” John griped.

“You wanna get home, don't you?”

“You are such an ass,” John muttered.

“What was that?

“I said, I'm staying here in the car.”

“Cabin. And technically if you come around—k”

“Don't care! I'm staying put here!”

“Fine, suit yourself,” Thomas said. “Probably safer for you that way, anywho.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, you haven't heard?” Thomas turned to John with a sly smile. “You know there's a beast in these woods, right? Something that prowls around waiting in the dark to spring up on the kids when they wander just a bit too far from the other teens in cars making out, ya know, like we just did here.”

“Are you high?” John asked him. “There is NOT something in those fucking woods, and if there was why the fuck would you put us in danger like that, you dick?”

Thomas shrugged in a nonchalant way with that knowing little smirk that John hated and twirled his keys on one finger before making sure John saw him stuff them in his pocket. “You're probably right, it's just a story meant to scare the teens straight. Anyway, I'll be here, in the back of the truck until you're ready to join me.” Then he settled down and let the curtain drop again. John rolled his eyes and leaned back in his own seat, hellbent on waiting out whatever tomfoolery Thomas was playing at. It was pretty clear to him the guy was trying to be a dick and scare him, but John wasn't going to fall for some stupid and vague halfassed story like that. What a load of bull.

It wasn't long before the cold started to creep back into the cab of the truck and John pulled his hoodie closer around himself before crossing his arms over his chest. Thomas moved about in the back of the truck but John pretended to ignore him, counting off the minutes on his phone, which he glanced at every one in a while. He figured if Thomas didn't give up and get him home at the end of those 45 minutes John had reluctantly agreed to then he'd try his hand at hot-wiring a car and take Thomas and his truck out for a little joyride of his own. Knowing how possessive Thomas was over his truck, he doubted it would go over well with the Virginian, but that would be the price he'd pay for fucking around with John. And in the meantime, Thomas could sit out there all by himself for as long at it would take him to figure out whatever he was trying to do wouldn't fucking work. Weirdo.

“BOO!!” the cry came with a loud knock on the window behind John's head and he jolted a bit in his seat. Thomas laughed and John turned to glare at him as he peeked from under the curtain, tapping his fingers on the glass and smiling like he'd just done something super cleaver.

“Yo fuck you!” John yelled at him and turned back around, determined to ignore any further attempts at interaction, “You're not funny, you're not cleaver!!”

“I got you tho,” Thomas said. “Admit it. You were scared.”

“The fuck I was,” John griped to himself. Thomas knocked on the window a few more times and John ignored him. Eventually Thomas stopped, and settled back into sitting quietly in the truck bed again. John seethed quietly to himself for a minute, wondering how much longer Thomas was going to keep up his childish charades, until he felt thomas moving about in the back of the truck bed again. He heard Thomas pop the back and sighed, figuring Thomas had finally given up and was going to come back up to the frount and take him back to his dorm. John folded his arms and closed his eyes, still mad at everything Thomas had tried to pull on him that night and didn't want to have to look at him when he got back in the cabin.

The minutes ticked by and Thomas didn't return to the driver's seat.

John glanced at his phone again, waited, then glanced again and noted that nearly five minutes had passed. He sat very still and listened to the back of the truck, unable to hear any movement or see any shadow that looked like Thomas. John turned in his seat and knocked on the window, sure he'd heard Thomas climb out of the truck but unsure of where he'd go if it wasn't right back to the frount with him. “Thomas?” he called when he recieved no response. He turned and looked out the windows seeing nothing but woods all around. He heard nothing that seemed out of place to him, an owl hooting somewhere, the snap of a branch that could've been a deer. John tried knocking again on the back window and calling for Thomas again, but as he did so he thought he heard movement from outside the truck. He looked around again, trying to figure out what the fuck Thomas was even doing. He sighed angerly as he realized he would have to get out of the cabin and go look for Thomas if he wanted to confront him now.

John popped the door and was just pushing it open when something big and dark and hairy with a white skull for a face lunged for him and John panicked as he jumped back further into the truck, only barely holding onto the last shred of his sanity that told him to slam the door shut behind him. The thing, whatever it was, threw it's body up against the glass of the window, and John shrieked as he stared wide eyed at it's head, the bone white skull of a deer. Laughter erupted from underneath that skull, rolling, bubbly, hysterical laughter, and it doubled over in it's mirth. John realized then that it was human, and he screamed even more, now with a touch of anger, because it was clear to him this was some sicko in a costume come to murder him. Then the person straightened himself a bit and pushed the skull back, revealing the face of Thomas, still laughing at John's plight. “It's just me,” he gasped out between pearls of laughter. “John, John calm down, it's just me.”

“YOU GODDAMN BASTERD SON OF WHORE!!” John shrieked, still flailing around in Thomas's truck. He got his bearings and pushed the car door open again. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!? WHAT THE ACTUAL _FUCKING_ _ **FUCK**_ IS WRONG WITH YOUR HEAD?!?!” He chased after Thomas, swinging at him with his fist, missing entirely or hitting Thomas's perfectly timed blocks. The Virginian was still laughing, infuriating John even more. Then he caught one of John's fists, swung it across himself and spun John around, catching him from behind now. Thomas brought his arm up to John's neck and locked his hands in a choke hold that ended the fight swiftly and with the efficiency of someone who clearly had the experience of doing this a hundred times over. John still wiggled around trying to break free, but Thomas pushed the back of his knee forward, bringing them down together.

“You're okay,” Thomas was shushing him, rocking slightly as he repositiothed to restrain John with his legs as well. “Shh, shhh, you're okay, John.”

“THE FUCK I AM,” John yelled, hissing at the pain in his chest that prevented him from thrashing harder and drained his will to fight through pain. “LET ME GO, YOU FUCKING SICKO, OR I'M GUNNA CALL THE COPS!!”

“You took a swung at me and I merely subdued you,” Thomas said, and goddamnit John couldn't see his face but he sure as hell could hear that cocky fucking smirk he wore. “Cops aren't gunna show up for that, useless pigs. Besides, we both know our phones don't have service up here and even if that weren't the case, how did you expect to call them when I've still got you restrained, huh?”

“FUCKING DICK!!” John yelled in frustration, trying once more to wiggle his way free.

“Look, I'll let you go, just as soon as you take a few deep breaths and calm down. It was a joke, John, just a little prank.”

“IT'S NOT FUNNY!!”

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“BECAUSE I FUCKING THOUGHT SOMEONE KILLED YOU, JACKASS!!”

Thomas chuckled in John's ear, his face seeming to nuzzle close to John's neck through the thick locks of his hair. “Aww, does that mean you care about me John?”

“No, it means I was disappointed I wouldn't get to murder you myself.”

“Fine line between love and hate, boy.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself.”

John didn't have a retort to that and so he resorted to doing the one thing he hoped would earn him his freedom back and he took a few deep breaths. Thomas loosened enough to allow for the inhales, though tightened again when John tried once to struggle free. He had a feeling it would be pointless, but John still had to try. He fell back into breathing and trying to calm his blinding rage, focusing instead on the one good swift punch he was gunna land on Thomas's face as soon as he was free, no matter what it took. Finally, after they'd sat in silence for a few minutes in the cold woods, Thomas asked him, “Ready to be let go?”

“I was ready the minute you put your hands on me,” John ground out through grit teeth.

“Promise me you won't take another swing at me,” Thomas bartered.

“Promise me you'll cut your own dick off first,” John countered.

“And do what with it?” Thomas smirked. “Wrap it up and give it to you as a gift?”

“Shove it in your own ass to go with the stick you keep up there.”

“Heh, I can assure you I've never had anything up my ass, John. While we're on the topic tho, seriously, what gets you hard about that?”

“Why don't you go shove something up your ass and find out yourself?”

Thomas chuckled, his face nuzzling against John's shoulder for a moment and John tried to shrug him off with no success. “You know what I love about you, John? You can be so fiery sometimes. Ya know, passionate. You don't take shit from anyone.”

“Kinda being forced to take your shit right now, aren't I?”

“Okay, look, I'll let you go as long as you agree to a truce, deal?”

“Fine,” John agreed and was relieved when Thomas's grip finally let him go. He scooted away, spun around and lunged at Thomas, knocking him back but unable to hold him down as Thomas rolled them both over and swiftly got on top of John, sending John's mind spiraling into an instant panic as he realized his hands were pinned to either side of him, his legs tangled around one of Thomas's. The skull had slipped back over Thomas's head and John shut his eyes, overcome by memories of another time he was held down, another face too close to his, the pain and humiliation he felt being forced to endure the torture of being told he was a bad little boy for wanting it and that bad little boys would go to hell if they didn't straighten themselves out and learn how to lay with women.

“John!!” someone called and the sound nearly broke through the memories of hearing other kids around him crying and begging to be let go, the memories of his own voice shouting for help that never came. “John!!” the voice was louder, and he opened his eyes again, seeing Thomas's face leaning over him, feeling Thomas slapping gently at his cheek as if to wake him from a nightmare. “There you are! Jesus, what happened? You went pale all a sudden and yo—WHOA!!” Thomas fell back as John shoved him as hard as he could and scrambled out from under his body. “John, just calm down! It's me, Thomas!”

“don't do that again,” John gasped, his head still reeling with phantom sounds he couldn't place as he looked around. There was nothing but woods all around them, but his mind told him they were filled with hurting children. Children like him. Bad little boys going to hell because they were gay. Monsters wearing adult masks feeding on their suffering. John shook and he wasn't sure if it was from fear or the cold. He wove his hands through his hair and mentally told them to leave him alone, shutting his eyes as he fell back against the side of the truck for support.

“Uhhh, are you okay?” Thomas asked lamely, trying to put a hand on John's shoulder. John pulled away from the touch. “Look...I'm sorry I scared you, if that's what this is about. I didn't think you'd be this sensitive about it. I really thought we'd laugh and like, bond, ya know?” John opened his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, saying nothing, waiting for the crying in his head to subside, waiting for the screams to stop. Thomas walked past him and back toward the back of the truck. “Umm....So I know this is a lame transition but would you maybe wanna hang out in the truck bed for a few minutes while you sorta...uhh, calm down?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” John bitched. “No! I want to go home. Now Thomas.”

“C'mon John, you promised me 45 minutes!!” Thomas practically begged. He moved toward the back of the truck bed, his hands almost trailing lightly over John's arms in an effort to coerce John along with him.

“No, I was going to give you 15, and you took 45,” John said.

“Fine, then just spend the last 15 in the back here with me. I promise I can make it worth it to you.”

“Will you please take me home after?”

“I will.”

“You promise?”

“I will take you home after.”

John rolled his eyes but pulled himself away from the side of the truck he'd been leaning against. He trudged through a layer of frost and snow to the back of Thomas's truck and tried not to be mad he had to be out in the cold again, but as he got to the end of the vehicle he got a damn good look at what Thomas was probably trying to show him. He'd backed the truck up against some lookout point that oversaw the town and although it was not that much higher up or far away, the twinkling streetlights of the sleepy town below still filled him with a sense of calm wonder. The little bit of snow that had fallen thus far this winter blanketed over everything and made it look almost like a scene from a Christmas card. A few cars still wandered the streets, John idly wondering if they too were late getting home or were they hurrying in to an early morning job. The twinkling lights extended out until they abruptly stopped in an inky darkness and John tried to make out what was beyond the edge of the town line.

“Beautiful, huh?” Thomas said beside him and John turned to find him leaning out of the open window at the back of the truck, but the bottom half was still closed. “Hurry, climb in. And be prepared to take your shoes off.”

“Why?” John questioned.

“You'll see.”

John resigned himself to seeing this all through and went to climb up into the back of the truck, as soon as he swung his leg over the bottom flap Thomas refused to lower though, he saw what the guy had been plotting. The roof of the back cabin was all made of glass, giving a crystal clear view to the sky above and the bed of the truck was filled with a small futon mattress rolled out along it's floor. There was only one area where John could put his snow and slush encrusted shoes, which he promtply took off and chucked them to the bin by the back where Thomas had put his. It was chilly only until Thomas shut the window that John had climbed in, then he noticed there was a small space heater and some lights hooked up to a portable generator warming the space and it seemed to do a far better job then even the truck's heater had. The front end of the bed was lined with pillows, giving John the clear idea that Thomas meant for them to lay their heads there and look at the sky or the town below. A cooler sat across from the heater and a thermos sat on top of that. A few blankets sprawled out haphazardly on the floor, John assumed Thomas had trouble laying them out as he couldn't stand fully upright but he admired the work Thomas had put into it all the same as he slowly took off his own outer coat.

“What's all this about?”

“Bonding,” Thomas answered, as if that was all that needed to be said. He took John's coat and put it aside with his Letterman jacket. “You want a beer or some cocoa? I also have Bailey's for the cocoa if that's your cup of tea.”

“Beer is fine. Really, what's this about?”

“Bonding.”

John rolled his eyes as Thomas fished a beer out of the cooler and popped it open before handing it over. He pulled out a bottle of Bailey's and poured himself a cup of cocoa, topping it off with the alcohol.

“You have to drive us back,” John said as he watched Thomas take a sip of his hot chocolate.

“I know my limits. Besides, it'll burn off by the time we're ready to go.”

“You'll still be drunk in 15 minutes when we have to leave.”

Thomas sighed and shook his head. “If you're still that set on it, in 15 minutes I'll take you home. However, I think I might convince you to change your mind.”

“There is most assuredly no way you could possibly change my mind about anything.”

Thomas smiled at him over the rim of his cup. “I got you to change your mind about coming up here, didn't I? _And_ about sitting here in the back of my truck with me. I'm two-for-two, John.”

He stared at Thomas with a mild form of disbelief. Like the guy was so incredibly cocky, John didn't know out of whose ass he pulled so much cock to wave around at people. He pushed his jaw around as he worked out the math in his head. Unless Thomas had a hella high metabolism there was just no way his body was gunna work off a the amount of alcohol he'd poured into that cup in 15 minutes. So he was obviously planning on dawdling some and keeping John out here in the woods where he didn't even _want_ to be. Great. He shook his head a little bit and downed half his own beer. Well, at least if he had to be out here with Thomas of all people he could be drunk for it.

He felt Thomas's hand brush the back of his and John pulled it to cross his lap where it wouldn't get touched again. A moment later he felt Thomas shifting to sit closer. John shifted in the corner he'd set up in, taking another sip of his drink and looking out at the twinkling lights. “Sooo, can I ask you a question?” Thomas asked him.

“Didn't you just?” John replied.

“Smartass,” Thomas replied. “Okay, like, a _series_ of questions then.”

“What, like you wanna play 20 questions or something?”

“Yeah sure,” Thomas said, “I'll go first. What do you like in a man?”

John took a sip of his beer. “Why do you wanna know about that?”

“You have to answer the question before you ask me one, John.”

“Or you can drink to avoid answering the question, which I did. Now answer mine.”

“We didn't agree to make this a drinking game.”

“We also didn't agree that we _had_ to answer questions before asking them.”

“Right, so you have to answer my question...” Thomas stalled as John just stared at him with one brow cocked. “Fine, you win! You can drink to avoid the question, but you have to answer it if it gets asked a third time.”

“Fine, but you can't ask the same question repetitively. Three other questions, then you can repeat a question.”

“Okay, but you only get three consecutive skips and then you HAVE to answer a question.”

John licked his lips, tasting what was left of his last sip of beer. “Fine. So you asked your question and I skipped. Now answer mine, why do you wanna know what I like in about men?”

“Because I'm trying to get to know you, dumbass. Is Laf the only guy you've ever done it with?”

John pushed his jaw to the side again thinking about how he wanted to answer that. “Defined what doing it is.”

“You know, like, had his thingy in your thingy.”

He snorted out a laugh. “Thomas, what the fuck?”

“What?”

“Is that how you say 'having sex?'”

“You can't ask me a question before you answer yours!”

“It was rhetorical. Say the phrase 'having sex,' say it right now. Say it.”

“I am not—”

“Say it! Say it! Say it! Say it!”

“OhMyGodHavingSexThereAreYouHappyNow?”

John rolled his eyes, having barely picked out the words in the too fast frantic way Thomas had spoken. “You're such a child.”

“You still need to answer my question.”

“What was it again?”

“Have you ever had sex with anyone other then Lafayette?” Slowly John brought the glass bottle to his mouth and took another sip, watching Thomas's reaction as he narrowed eyes on John. “That's your second skip in a row John. You only get one more before you'll be forced to answer.”

“You can't reask me either of those questions for three more questions. So have you—”

“You already asked me a question.”

“No I didn't, I just answered yours!”

“You asked me a question before you answered mine, and I answered it and then you skipped mine, so it's my turn again.”

“I said mine was rhetorical.”

“Doesn't matter, I answered. My turn. What do you like done to you in bed?”

John rolled his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. “Why in the fuck are you so interested in my sexuality?”

“You Cannot Ask A Question—”

“It's Rhetorical!”

“—Before You Answer Mine!”

“Oh My God!” John took a third swig of beer before he realized that was his third in a row. A smug smirk on Thomas told him he had him cornered for the next question. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Why the fuck are you so interested in my sexuality all of a sudden?”

Thomas smiled slow and wide. John watched him bring the cup up to his mouth and he took a slow and deliberate sip. John could tell he meant it to look like something sexy, but it honestly just came of as sinister to him. John eyed Thomas from the side, feeling his heckles raise. He trusted Lafayette and he really wanted to trust in whatever good the French man saw in Thomas, but years of childhood trauma had taught him if there was one thing to be suspicious and mistrustful of it was another man's interest in what John wanted to do with his own dick. Honestly, it was a wonder Lafayette had ever gotten as far as he had. And Thomas was southern too, he should know better then Lafayette that this kind of thing wasn't okay to pry into.

“My turn, and this time you _have_ to answer.” Thomas took a slightly longer minute to think of a question, eyeing John carefully, obviously weighing out all the ideas of questions to find the perfect one to ask. “Do you prefer to pitch or catch?”

“I prefer playing left field.”

“What's that mean?”

“Oh now look who's asking too many questions!”

“No, you know what my question meant—”

“Yeah, what baseball position do I prefer and I told you it's left field!”

“That wasn't an option!! What does that mean?!”

“It means if you want a better answer ask a better question!! Why are you asking me so many personal questions?!”

“Maybe because I find you interesting. Have you ever slept with a woman before?”

John rolled his eyes and huffed, about to take another sip when he considered Thomas's words. “Uh, let's see....well there was my mama when I was a babe—”

“John...”

“Do I count my littliest sister now that she is a woman or does it not count cuz we were both children when I used to let her sleep in my bed after nightmares?”

“John!”

“No you're right, we shouldn't count that as she was just a girl.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh but my highschool girlfriend wasn't, she was two years older then me and we did the sleep thing together a few times, but she got weird about it, said we were missing some step about it, but like I don't know what she was talking about because when you sleep with someone you just put your head on a pillow next to their head on a pillow and go to sleep right? Like, what extra step is she talking about, right? Oh! I've slept in the same bed with my grandma a few times, how 'bout that? And then—”

“Okay John I Get It!” Thomas snapped. “Jesus, it's like pulling teeth from an angry tiger.”

“How many women have you fucked?” He asked it in the hopes that it would agitate Thomas and get him to back off. Honestly John didn't care, he just wanted Thomas to start worrying about the questions he could ask in return.

“Like I can keep track of 'em all,” Thomas sighed as he took a sip of his cocoa. John tried to give him an intimidating look but it was thrown as Thomas asked him, “How many woman have you fucked?”

“You just asked that!”

“Nooooo, I asked how many women did you sleep with and you answered who you had, like, literally slept with, cuz I know you didn't fuck your mom! Now I'm asking how many vaginas you got lucky enough to stick your dick in!”

“Five,” John spat and Thomas looked impressed. He opened his mouth as if to ask a follow up question but John cut him off with, “It's my turn now. How many men have you fucked before?”

“None. Who were they, the women you smashed with?” He sighed as John took another drink. “Yo, don't tell me they were your famil—AUUGH!!” Thomas screamed as John spit the beer in his mouth deliberately into Thomas's face. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?!”

“FOR BEING FUCKING DISGUSTING!!” John yelled back. “I DID _NOT_ FUCK MY MOTHER, YOU PERVERT!!!”

“You laid those cards out on the table!!” Thomas retorted as he set his cup down and used his shirt to wipe his face off. “Don't be fucking mad at me when I draw the wrong conclusions because you want to appear aloof and mysterious!!”

“I am _not_ aloof and mysterious.”

“No, you're more hissing and biting and scratching then a wet feral tomcat.”

“Have you ever fucked your mother, in all the women that you stuck your dick in?”

“Don't be nasty, John.”

“Oh that's right, you couldn't keep track of all the women you fucked, so that's probably a yes.”

“That is so fucking disgusting that you think that.”

“It's fucking disgusting that you can't even keep track.”

“I have NOT fucked my own mother, John. But I might have fucked yours!”

“Hahaha, yeah, I fucked your mom too.”

“That's not funny.”

“Neither are you.”

“Shut up, it's my turn. Is Laf the only guy you've done it with?”

“That one again? You know I can just skip it this time, right?”

“Go ahead, but the more you drink the easier it'll be to bamboozle you.”

John finished what was left in his bottle, hoping that wasn't the only one Thomas had brought up. He still had the Bailey's, and it wasn't John's drink of choice but damn it if it kept him drunk and able to skip questions in this stupid game he didn't want to play then fine. Thomas didn't wait to be asked for another beer tho, he fetched another for John from the chest and popped the cap off before handing it over just as before. “Thanks,” John said reflexively. He rolled his head around a bit trying to think of a good question to get under Thomas's skin. “Are you gay?”

“No,” Thomas said almost too quickly. “What do you like in a man?” John sipped again. “So you've skipped the last three questions, which means you have to answer the next one, and the next time I ask the last two questions I asked you have to answer them.”

“Yeah sure, whatever. What do you like about Laf? Like why are you friends with him?”

“He was just my roommate more then anything. But he's...interesting.”

“What, like I'm interesting?”

“That's two questions, John. And no, I'm interested in you for different reasons.”

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

Thomas smiled again and took a sip of his drink. “You know you can't dodge this next question.” There was a heavy pause as Thomas let the tension build and John hoped he'd trip up and ask if he was ready for it. “What do you like done to you sexually?”

“fuck me,” John whispered.

“Maybe later.”

“What?”

“Answer the question! What devious things does the hissing tomcat that is John Laurens actually like in bed?”

“You can't ask fucking normal questions like what's my favorite color or what kind of music do I like to listen to...” John grumbled as his face heated up. He looked around at anything that wasn't Thomas's smug little face as he tried to find a way to answer in a way that wouldn't come back to bit him in the ass....or get him hurt. “I like.....don't...don't fucking judge me okay, I have my reasons, but I like.... _giving_ head, alright?”

“That's not something that gets done to you.”

“It's what I like.”

“Yeah, but I asked what you like to have done to you. There's a difference—”

“I like when a man puts his dick in my mouth, do you really have to twist my words around so much?!”

“Why do you like that?”

John took a sip of his beer with a shaking hand. This was getting too personal, too close to things he didn't want to discuss with Thomas. “That's two questions. It's my turn.”

“I have one more question. I answered three for you and after this one we go back to turns.” His eyes roamed up and down John's body, considering carefully which question he'd choose. “Do you like when a guy fucks you in the ass, or would you rather be the one doing the fucking?”

“You fucking lied to me,” John snapped, “You're a fucking faggot, just like me! Admit it! That's why you brought me out here! That's why you're trying to ask me all these fucking questions!!”

“Thought you didn't like that word, John.”

“Yo, fuck you!” John yelled. He felt cornered and agitated and everything about Thomas's weird behaviors were setting him off now. “Answer me, why the fuck are you asking all this shit?!”

“I'm just trying to understand you, that's all John. And even if I am gay, you shouldn't have a problem with that, ya know, seeing as _you_ like guys.”

“The fuck you know about what I like?”

Thomas rolled his eyes as if John was failing to grasp a simple concept. “Well, I don't know much. And that's why I'm asking.”

“You asking about shit you don't need to know about.

“Maybe I think it's stuff we can talk about.”

“Nah, and I'm telling you this ain't shit we need to talk about. Fuck off with this bullshit, Thomas. You don't know me like that, you don't need to know me like that.”

“Okay, maybe I thought asking you about it would be easier to relate too then Lafayette.”

John felt his head swimming and shook it as if that might clear it some of the imagined buzzing sounds that were warning him of danger. “What do you mean, I don't understand. Relate to what?”

“John, were both from places that aren't exactly welcoming to the idea of two men kissing. I thought if I was able to ask you about it, we could talk about that, maybe you could get some things off your chest that you can't tell Lafayette, or that he just didn't understand. Cuz like, I live with the guy, right? I know what he's like. He's different. He's...bold. Unapologetic about who he is. But we don't act like that because we know that kind of stuff isn't okay.”

“There's nothing wrong with Laf.”

“Not as a person, no. Just the way he wears dresses, out in _public_. The makeup he wears. Heels, jewelry, he carries a purse, John!” Thomas laughed as if that was somehow the funniest joke the the world. “The guy is so messed up in the head he practically thinks he's a woman.”

“There is _nothing_ wrong with _my_ friend,” John ground out through clenched teeth.

“So...are you saying you'd wanna be like that? You want to wear dresses and shit? I mean, you find him attractive, you've slept with him before.”

“Because I love him, Thomas!”

“Yeah, but, if you like a guy like that why not just like, _be_ with a woman? It wouldn't be that different, right?”

“Is that why you sleep with all the women that you do? Because you're so scared of your own sexuality that you feel the need to bury it in as many women as will have you to prove you aren't queer? Also, are you fucking gay or not?!”

“I've never slept with a man before John, and I like fucking chicks, alright? But you fucked chicks before, right? Is that what you were doing?”

John snorted a single laugh and shook his head. “No, only two of them were because of that, Thomas. And I mean, I figured it out pretty quickly that fucking around with people I don't really care about wasn't the best way to make me feel better about myself or reassure me that my own sexuality was something I could just bang into submission if I just kept doing what I hated over and over until it somehow clicked into being the 'right' sexuality.” He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “I'm gay no matter what I do, so I don't want to hurt people...unnecessarily...”

“You mean like Laf did to you?” Thomas didn't even flinch as John glared up at him. “He told me his side of it, that's all. I think he was wrong. He shouldn't have left you. You deserve a guy who would stay.”

“Shut up,” John muttered into his knees. He swallowed the last bit of the beer from his second bottle, hoping for another but unwilling to ask. His head spun and he just wanted to get through the rest of whatever Thomas was trying without breaking down. Thomas remained quiet for a moment, studying John while he pretended not to notice Thomas was staring at him intently. For just a moment John believed that would be the end of it, that Thomas would let them get through the rest of the night in relative silence and take him home without further incident. John was wrong.

“You're doing it again.”

“Doing what again?”

“Giving me attitude, putting up walls. What are you so scared of John?”

“Not scared. Just know better then when I was younger, that's all.”

“You can't keep yourself locked away forever, ya know,” Thomas went on. “Ain't good for a person to be so distant from the people that care about him.”

“You don't care about me, Thomas. You don't even know me.”

“And whose fault is that?” John hated how that sounded, it meant Thomas had a point. “Look, I'm reaching out trying to find some common ground to stand with you on, can you please meet me half way here?”

“Why do you even want that?”

“Because even if you don't care about me I know you care about Laf, John. And I see all the nasty looks you give me and everyone else when his attention is focused on anyone but _you_. Look, he doesn't want to be with you and you can sit here and be as bitter as you want about that, sure. But no matter how hurt you are by what happened the sun still comes up and the world still spins. One day he's going to catch you glaring at someone he loves, and he's going to ask you why you don't like them, and if you can't figure out how to put all your butthurt feelings behind you and move on then you'll lose him all over again. Is _that_ what you want?”

John hated Thomas. He hated him so fucking much. He hated his stupid voice and his stupid clothes, and his stupid hair, and his stupid scruffy face, and his stupid personality, and his stupid music, and his stupid beer, and his stupid, stupid, stupid, sucking, goddamn, mother fucking, logic. He always thought if he just hated the man enough, if he quietly tended the seething rage inside him, if he kept that fire of wrath for this fucking asshole strong enough then he'd never have to worry about crying over anything that Thomas said or did. John was wrong.

“No,” John ground out between clenched teeth and clenched fists.

“So why _are_ you holding on to your pain, John? Why not let it go?”

John didn't answer him, shaking now in his desperate attempt to hold himself together from breaking. He couldn't do anything about the tears blurring his vision now but he'd be damned if he broke and let Thomas see him cry. Tense and braced for the worse, he couldn't move a single muscle now lest everything come crashing down around him, even if he had an answer to give. Truth was....he didn't.

He held onto the hope that Lafayette would wake up one day and come to his senses about being with John, but over a year after they had reconnected as friends and still two more since they'd broken up, the French man had made no move that showed John he wanted another relationship. Oh he doted on him, kissed and hugged and cuddled and nuzzled John almost like a lover, but john knew that was how he was with many of his other friends. It's not like he pulled John into little hidden niches anymore and felt him up, not like he invited him over to spent a late night alone at his house; no, Lafayette was very careful to avoid all of those things, just as he said he would. Just as John stupidly agreed they should.

“Right,” Thomas said after a long moment of silence from John. “Look, let's just....start over, okay? Pretend we don't even know each other—”

“We don't.”

“But I want to get to know you. So, how come you haven't gotten yourself another boyfriend yet?”

John took deep breaths, choking down his pain, refusing to break so Thomas could give him any comfort. He brushed aside his tears and shrugged, going for another sip of beer and finding his bottle empty. John frowned as he put it aside, answering, “Just haven't found the right guy or something yet. Why are you just fucking around with a bunch of girls instead of settling down?”

“Heh, cuz I didn't think I was ready to really do the relationship thing again,” Thomas replied. “Want another one?” He smiled at John as the other male nodded, then dug a third beer from his ice chest, twisting it open for John before he handed it over. “But you know, if the right person came along, maybe I could convince myself to give it a go.”

John took another sip of his fresh bottle, swallowing with it the anger and hatred he'd had a moment before because, as much as he hated Thomas he was starting to see that the asshole had a point. He had to get along with Thomas. And anyone else Lafayette kept in his life. It wasn't fair to hate someone just because his best friend wanted to talk to other people. “Oh yeah? Who would be the right person?”

“Hmm, who indeed. I guess I'd want them to be a little fiery, but with a good head on their shoulders. A hard worker, quick wit, good looks, a good cook—”

“Ugh, do you want them to clean up after you, run you a hot bath after supper, and greet you after work with a strong drink and a blowjob?”

Thomas chuckled into his almost empty mug. “Well, now that you mention it, those things _do_ sound nice,” he said, shooting John another of those sly little smirks. John rolled his eyes. “So, what do you look for? Like, who would be the perfect man for you?”

John nursed his drink for a minute, mulling over what he should say. “Any way I look at it I always come back to the thought that Laf was my ideal....I just don't know what was so wrong with me that he didn't think the same.”

“Well do you...” Thomas stalled out for a minute as John glanced up at him. He pretended to clear his throat and looked up at the glass ceiling, studying the constellations. “...You think you could even be with a guy...a guy that isn't like Laf?”

John's eyes ran up and down along Thomas's profile, sizing him up. “What kind of guy?”

“i dunno,” Thomas mumbled. “someone just different then him...”

“Someone like you?”

Thomas shifted and pretended his face itched so he could turn away from John and hide the small blush starting to heat his cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, when you think about it...?”

“Wait,” John said, feeling his mind reel as it tried to process everything that was happening under the heavy buzz of alcohol he had. “Are you trying to say that you...that you _like_ like me?”

“Well, you know, those are your words, not mine,” Thomas replied.

“Oh, doooon't,” John nearly laughed. “Don't pretend like I'm the one trying to make it something it's not, are you telling me that you like me like _that_ or-or what?”

“I never said that,” Thomas sheepishly replied. “Those are your words, and if you think that I think that about you, then you know, if it makes you happy to think that I think that—”

“Stooop.”

“Then I guess you can just think that I think that—”

“Sto-hahaha-op! You do _not like_ like me! Oh my god!” John laughed. “Is...is _that_ why you did all this?”

“You seem to think that I want to go out with you John, and I mean, that's just your idea to think. I can't tell you to stop thinking it.”

“Oh, my god, you do!” John doubled over in laughter, wincing as it caused a sharper pain where his chest was hurt but hardly caring because this genuinely was hilarious to him. “Ahhh!! Be serious! Admit it, this is why you brought me out here, why we're in the back of your stupid truck!

“I don't think Tiger Lily is stupid, that's a rather mean thing to say about my baby.”

“Thomas. Thomas. Thomas.... _do_ you like me?”

“I thought I told you I did?”

“Like like me? Like _like_ —”

His words were stolen as Thomas quickly leaned in and snatched a kiss from his mouth before leaning back, and wearing it on his own lips in that smirk that John no longer knew how to feel about. “Well, what do you think about that?”

“I think...” John tried not to smile because he just couldn't process all of what was happening to him in that moment. “You're out of your goddamn mind.”

“What makes you say that?” Thomas replied, leaning forward slightly.

“You hardly know me.”

“I'm trying to get to know you, John. I want to get to know you.” A hand reached up and cupped John behind his head, holding him still even though he didn't need too as he went in for another kiss, this one longer and involving Thomas flicking his tongue into John's mouth a few times. He closed his eyes and parted his lips for the other male, chasing his tongue back out of his mouth and grunted a bit at how good it felt to be kissed again. But somewhere in his hazy mind he remembered it was Thomas that was kissing him and he broke it off. “What's wrong?” Thomas's lips asked him, pressing themselves against his own a few more times as if trying to convince him not to say no to them.

“Just a little too fast,” John mumbled into Thomas's mouth.

“I can go slow,” Thomas said. “I know you're not over him, but...I don't mind, ya know? If you gave me a chance...that's all I want, John...”

He didn't know what to say with his mouth against those lips. His head spun and all he could seem to manage was pulling back enough to breathe and search Thomas's face for any sign that this was a joke. He saw the hopeful look in his brown eyes, studied the curves of his nose, the stubble and flush of his cheeks. “I...need a moment to think....”

Thomas hummed a kind of acknowledgment and thankfully gave John the space to breathe. His hands still stayed behind John's head, kneading the flesh at the very top of his neck and causing tingles to shoot up and down John's spine. He wanted to tell Thomas to stop but the message felt good, especially as Thomas's hand inched it's way down John's neck, squeezing and rubbing the entire way. His other hand reached up and around John's neck, meaning to work from the other side, but as soon as John realized how easy it would be for Thomas to start choking him he felt panic shoot him into action. He broke Thomas's hold on him by knocking his hands away and pulling out of his reach, keeping his arm primed to fend off any further attempts Thomas might make on grabbing or hitting him. “What?” Thomas asked, failing to take a hint and back off. “I was just going to give you a message, John.”

“Just...just let me think about this, okay?” John tried to clear his mind enough to get a feel for what was expected of him. “I'm just tryin...” He shifted and put his back to the wall of the car, hating how he'd basically backed himself into a corner. “Jus' tryin' to wrap my head around this...”

“You know you don't have anything to be afraid of with me, right?”

No, no he didn't know that. John knew that's what Thomas wanted him to think but he had no way of knowing if that was the truth or not. He was assaulted again with the memories of schoolmates from childhood playgrounds cornering him with questions he didn't know how to answer, grilling him about the rumors their parents whispered. He'd been taunted and teased and picked on by boys his age daring each other to run up and shove him, or called out names that stung, kids he'd thought were his friends informing him that no they couldn't come to his birthday because they were scared he was going to try to kiss them and they didn't want to catch the gay. Thomas could have been lying to him, Thomas could have been trying to lure him into a false sense of security in order to get to him where it hurt, and goddamnit, John wasn't a stupid little boy anymore, he wasn't going to be Thomas's little joking victim!

John's mind ran into overdrive, assessing how much bigger Thomas was then him, (he had 10, maybe 15 pounds more from his height and muscle mass, so he needed to avoid letting Thomas get on top of him at all costs) what around him could be used as a weapon, (the bottle in his hand, the blanket at his feet if he got it over Thomas's head) any and all escape routes he could utilize (out the back ideally, or any of the side windows, through the glass ceiling if he absolutely had too). Thomas shifted to sit closer to John and he tensed, his entire body ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.

“Look, I know what you've been through, Laf told me about some of it. I know you're probably thinking 'this has gotta be a trick!' right? 'A super hot guy like Thomas couldn't possibly like an average kinda guy like me!'”

He snorted, he couldn't help it. It was just such a conceited and Thomas thing to say. “Wow, full of yourself much?”

Thomas grinned at him, more relaxed, less like that stupid smirk John hated. “I see how you look at me sometimes.”

“What? With disdain and loathing in my eyes?”

“Yeah. You're jealous I look better then you. Ya know John, you don't gotta be mad about it. With a little bit of work you'd have a body that looked as good as mine.”

“You are such an asshole,” John snapped. “My body is fine, I'll bet it even looks better then you—Oh Shhh—!”

Was he expecting Thomas to just remove his shirt and show off that gorgeously flawless chest and those hard flat abs? No, god no, but oh, oh boy, if John ever had a doubt about his orientation well there it was, he was definitely gaaaaaay. It took him a moment to realize he was staring, and not only staring but mouth hung agape staring. His eyes darted up as he felt his face flush under the half lidded look Thomas cast down to him and oh look, it was his favorite little smirk come back to haunt John. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck... “Alright, let's see it,” Thomas said and snapped John's mind out of stalling out.

“See? See what?”

“Your body,” Thomas replied, his smirk widening as John blushed even more. “You said you'd bet it looks better then mine, sooooo, show off or pay up.”

“I didn't agree to take any of my clothes off!” John snapped. He hissed as Thomas's eyes darted to where their coats lay discarded at the foot of the truck bed. “You _Know_ What I Mean!!” Shit, shit, shit, shit, did Thomas have to chuckle then, with beautiful pectorals and nipples John just wanted to—he quickly reached out and squeezed one of Thomas's nipples between the nail of his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger, twisting quickly before Thomas could register the pain and scream at an octave louder then he probably normally would. John's reflexes saved him from getting slapped in the face as he blocked with his other arm and let go to retreat to his corner, while Thomas backed up and tired his best to cover himself with his hands. John laid on him a wicked smirk of his own, feeling a touch like a feral tomcat that had been forced inside and had successfully swiped at it's caretaker's ankles from under the couch.

“Jesus, John!!” Thomas yelled. “That _hurt_!!”

“Ahh, poor baby,” John condescendingly cooed at him. “Maybe you should put your shirt back on, ya know, prevent your nipples from taunting me again.”

“What did my nipples ever do to you?!”

“They dared to exist the view of my eyes. Have they no shame?”

“Well pluck your eyes out then!!”

“No.” John watched as Thomas sullenly rubbed at his chest and felt quite smug in his actions. “So, let me guess, your feelings of admiration and love for me are probably on the wane a bit, huh?”

“Oh, not in the slightest,” Thomas said, surprising John yet again that night. “You're acting out because you're scared I might actually be the real deal, and not some air headed floozy like Lafayette was.”

“Laf wasn't a floozy,” John griped. “And I doubt anything about _you_ is real.”

“Oh, every inch of me is very real. Maybe if you stopped being a scared little bitch about it you'd come around and see that I'm right.”

John glowered at Thomas. “Every _inch_ , huh?”

Thomas grinned widely. “I believe you were already graced with a picture of the specfic part you're implying.”

“Unwillingly,” John minded him. “And so what, it didn't look that impressive to me.”

“So you _have_ studied it.”

“I couldn't figure out what I was looking at at first.”

“Blinded by it's beauty?”

“More like horrified by how little it was.”

“Little?”

“Yeah.”

“My dick sure isn't little. You're thinking of Laf.”

“Nope. Definitely your dick. So tiny. I'd call it cute even if it wasn't so sad.”

“Hmm, maybe you're just insecure.”

John shifted in place, as it was becoming uncomfortable to keep holding his knees up and he wanted more beer. He could hardly believe the bullshit Thomas was telling him and he would need a lot more alcohol if he was to be expected to keep listening. “Oh yeah, I'm real sure that's it.”

“You know John, insecurity really doesn't do it for a man. If your dick is smaller than mine I wouldn't think less of you.”

He nearly choked on the sip of beer in his mouth. “My dick is NOT smaller than yours.”

“Wanna bet?”

His eyes darted to Thomas's crotch before he could think to stop the quick glance and when they darted back Thomas was smirking at him again. “Alright, fucking show me.”

A brow raised on Thomas's face, the smirk deepening. “Oh? You think you can handle it? You know, I'd hate to show you magnificence that you could only dream about and watch you try to hide a boner form me because you can't help how badly you'll want it.”

“Take off your pants. Go on.”

“You gunna take off yours?”

“I'm not the one talking about the glorious magnificent size of my dick, asshole. If you talk it you'd better walk it. So let's go. Pants off. Show me what you got.” But if John thought he could bully Thomas into obeying, he was wrong. The other man shrugged instead and sat back, pointedly keeping his own legs spread so that John could take a glance whenever he wanted and wonder what Thomas had hidden under his clothes. “Aww, what's the matter?” John tried taunting, “Too scared to show me?”

“No, of course not,” Thomas said far too casually. “But I dunno, John. Do you think it's a little unfair that you're asking me to undress myself for you and you won't reciprocate with something I might like?”

“The chance to wave your so called ginormous cock in my face isn't enough incentive?” John deadpanned. “Really? What else could you possibly want?”

“How about another kiss?”

John rolled his eyes. “Fine, I'll give you another kiss, and then you can show me your dick.” He hoped that would earn him enough brownie points to then be taken home but realized a moment later that after he'd said that neither party had moved from their corners. John narrowed his eyes on Thomas as he grinned back, clearly enjoying watching John puzzle out that he expected John to crawl to him for the kiss and subsequent flashing. He heaved a sigh and finished the rest of his second beer, finally leaving his corner and crawling over to Thomas. John meant to only give the guy a quick peck, let him bitch about it or argue schematics about what he'd intended, but a hand found it's way up to the back of his neck and another slipped across the small of his back, sneaking up under his shirt and tracing warm fingers up John's spine. He opened his mouth meaning to pull away and tell Thomas to stop, but his voice was cut down by the invasion of tongue and those dizzy feelings of drunken lust for something he'd been starved of for so long. He let Thomas kiss him until he needed air, then broke away and told himself it was because he needed to breathe. Thomas's lips kissed him down his neck and the hand sliding back down his skin tried to pull him in closer. “Hey...” he thought his voice sounded too faint, too lost in the heat on his face from drinking and arousal. “Maybe we shouldn't do this...”

“Afraid to see something you'll really like?” Thomas asked him, the words rolling over John's skin in goosebumps. “Well, what would you like to do instead?”

“Mmm.”

A tongue licked at John's jaw, a mouth nibbled at John's ear. He shivered, trying to clear his mind enough of all the times Lafayette had teased him the same ways, of what the actions led too. “I don't know what 'Mmm' is, John.”

“You said....you'd said something about a message?”

“You want one?” Thomas chuckled softly, the hand at he base of John's skull already working on rubbing small circles there to show John what he'd be getting.

He nodded once, knocking their foreheads together in an accidental headbutt and then recoiled in a touch of pain as Thomas let go to rub at his own forehead. “S-sorry,” John muttered.

“Eh, you didn't hit that hard. Lemme see.” He pulled John's face back to his, kissing him where their heads collided. “There, fixed it.” He stole another kiss from John's mouth, this one short. “If you turn around I can get started on that message you want.”

John didn't want it, not really. But it was the only alternative that he could think of where he wasn't being pulled down into a swirl of physical feelings he'd forgotten how to deal with. So he turned around, sat in front of Thomas. Hands came up and started at his neck, he tried not to tense at the thought of how easy it would be for the other to choke him as they squeezed and moved their way down over his shoulders. His drunken mind mulled over things Thomas had said, points he'd made that John was too mistrusting, too scared to get close to another human again.

“Wow, you're really tense,” Thomas said. “Just...try to relax, okay?”

John shifted as Thomas kept working at him, at first not wanting to admit that Thomas was right, that everything he'd said had somehow managed to burrow under John's skin and take root. He wanted to shrug him off and pretend he didn't care at all about the things he'd pointed out, that he'd never gotten over the first man that had ever broken his heart, the only man he'd ever trusted enough to give that vulnerable piece of himself too. He didn't want to let his walls down, he didn't want anyone else to hurt him again because it was scary to find someone to trust again, it was hard to even really trust anymore. But what if Thomas was right? And worse, what would happen to him if he couldn't learn to trust again?

Thumbs moved in little circles around at the base of his neck and slowly John found himself releasing tension even if he didn't want too. With it his walls started to crack and his weak heart started bleeding through, in tears for all the things he couldn't control. John shifted to discreetly wipe his face, not wanting Thomas to see, but in doing so gave him more of his back to work on, and Thomas must've seen it as an invitation to run his hands down the rest of John's back. He squeezed too hard on that bruised rib and John hissed and pulled away from the shoot of pain, a sharp stab that was much more noticeable then the dull ache it was becoming. “Sorry,” Thomas quickly corrected, “You hurt yourself on this side, right?” He placed a hand on the injury itself and John tensed again, waiting for Thomas to squeeze too hard, too jab into it and laugh at the reaction it would enviably elicit in John. But Thomas merely rubbed gently at it, as if he was trying to sooth the bruise that must've been forming under John's shirt. Fingers brushed against John's nipple and he told himself the electric little shiver that ran down his spine was from the cold.

Both of Thomas's hands moved back to work on rubbing down John's back and he became hyper focused on where those hands moved. They were careful, far more gentle, around his injury and every little circle they completed shaved off a little more of John's anxiety about being touched. He started to relax. Tension melted slowly out of his body, his shoulders unhunched and drooped down, the feeling of Thomas's hands became almost pleasant. Those hands slipped up under his shirt, ran the length of spine back up to John's neck, and pulled John's shirt up with them. John moaned at first, meaning to tell Thomas that if he wanted to continue touching John he could do so with John's clothes on, but the thumbs carefully but firmly pressing all the way up to the base of John's skull and the shoot of tingles that ran through his body felt so nice. Then he moved down again as the rest of Thomas's fingers cupped John's neck. Again, he realized he was vulnerable, he thought once more to tell Thomas to stop, but the hands came down and worked over his shoulders again, the threat they presented gone as quickly as it had come without so much as a squeeze on his jugular and John started to feel like his worry was silly. Thomas...Thomas wasn't going to hurt him? Hands came back up to help John pull his shift off over his head, exposing his bared back to the man. The tingling shot of oxytocin running through his blood made their interaction feel better and John leaned back, subconsciously seeking more comfort.

“I have some coconut oil,” Thomas muttered, into the curls of John's hair near his ear. “If ya wanna lay down, I could really work out your knots.”

John considered the words for a moment, still hesitant to let his guard down. But this was the first good thing that had come from this long shitty ass day, even if it was coming from Thomas. Once more, John thought maybe he was being too harsh on the guy, that maybe Thomas was trying his damnedest to show John whatever good their mutual friend saw and he needed to relax and just see that for what it was. “okay,” he finally let out, the word nearly lost in the sigh that carried it. Thomas shifted behind him and John moved first onto his knees, then carefully onto laying down on his stomach. Little notes of anxiety rattled in his head as Thomas straddled his legs, pinning them down, but John pulled a pillow closer to him and tried to silence the worry. A moment later, Thomas's weight shifted anyway, his oiled hands gliding up John's back again as he pressed into John's skin. He was faintly aware of Thomas's knees on either side of his hips, of how low on his back those hands came sliding back down, but he was more aware of the pops that relieved pressure and tension he didn't even realize he'd been unnecessarily holding onto, of the way fingers circled around knotted muscles until they loosened and relaxed completely.

Maybe it was the smell of coconut, the warmth from the heater, the low and soft lightening or gentle music, maybe the hands of a friend taking care of him, or the alcohol in his system, but John felt himself dropping off into the blissful oblivion of sleep. How good it felt to just melt away, his brain's anxieties drowned out in the fuzzy haze that clouded his thinking, brought him a note of peace. A male voice spoke behind him, asking a question he couldn't decipher though the tingles and flood of oxytocin as those hands rubbed his shoulders. Lips kissed the skin of his back, his neck and shoulders, kissed along his arms, pushed the hair from his face and kissed his cheek, his ear, his temple. John grunted, thinking that Lafayette could do anything to him in that moment and it wouldn't have mattered, so long as it didn't disrupt the calm he was feeling. He shifted behind John, hands slid down to his hips, to the waistband of his pants, thumbs running along underneath the fabric and across the top of his ass. John lifted his hips some, allowing his lover's hands to slide over his stomach, to find the button centered underneath him and undo it, to pull down the zipper of his fly. Fingers came back up to that waistband, they pulled it down, sliding the cloth over his rump, exposing more of his flesh. Hands rubbed over his ass, squeezing lightly, and spreading them gently.

John shifted then, realization coming to his mind that Lafayette wanted to do a little something more then just a back message, and he smiled into the pillow beneath him. Well, okay, just as long as they went gentle. It's not like John had put in a lot of practice since they.....they'd broken up....

He opened his eyes and came to his senses alarmingly fast once he felt a hand spreading him and another one slick with oil pressing two fingers into his anus at once. He whined and squirmed some, but Thomas pressed down onto the small of his back to steady him. “Shh, shhh, you have to relax, baby,” he told him, as if what he was doing was just the natural course of things. “I'll make ya feel good here in a minute, just be patient with me, okay?”

“Thomas, what the fu—Ung!!” John arched some, biting his bottom lip as fingers found his prostate and wiggled hard and heavy against it. Little waves of pleasure hit him, a sensation he'd gone without for so, so very long making him crave it in a desperate way. “Oh! Ahh!!” He didn't want this, he didn't want this, but fuck, fuck, oh fuck, it still felt so goddamn alarmingly good. He thrust into the mattress beneath him, looking for friction on his own dick, scared now if he fought too hard against the fingers thrusting into his ass he'd hurt something he very much did not want hurt. He didn't even know if Thomas would let him play with himself or if doing so would result in violence. He kept his hands dug into the pillow, let Thomas finger him, squeeze an asscheek, and hoped that was all he wanted from John's body.

He rubbed that sweet spot for John good and hard, listening to him mewl for it, feeling him try to buck, watching him get off on his fingers alone. “Heh, that's right, you like that, don't you?” Thomas cooed at him. “So, is this an answer to my question?”

“What question?” John said through gritted teeth, squeezing the pillow.

“You like it with something in your ass, don't you?” Thomas kissed at John's neck as he grunted and tried to push back against the other male to get him off of him. Thomas took his other hand off John's back and slipped it between his legs, finding his cock and giving him a few quick strokes. “Or do you like the feeling of this better, hmm?”

As hands invaded his most private areas, pushing away any cloth barrier that kept him decent, he whimpered at how the touches sent fire shooting throughout his nervous system. He wanted to grab them and rip them away. He wanted to yell and scream and kick and fight. He wanted to tell Thomas off and damn him to hell for crossing a line John no longer knew how to protect. But as one of those hands pushed at that bundle of nerves that weakened his resolve and the other fondled him from flaccid to arousal with a few strokes John was struck with one sickening realization.

He wanted to be touched.

God, he _wanted_ to be fucked.

He wanted it so bad he shook from anticipation, hissed as he sucked in little gasps while Thomas's hands worked him over, stretching him out with scissoring movements, legs shaking, stomach knotting, his body responding for him without his mind's consent. He opened his trembling legs and even pushed himself into Thomas's hand, excited that someone wanted to give his dick some pleasurable attention. He buried his shameful face in the pillow he held, moaning as Thomas made him want it, made him excited for it, made him almost beg for more. It wasn't fair how starved he felt. It wasn't fair how good Thomas was at drawing out his pleasure. It wasn't fair that Thomas thought the way John bucked his hips was because of what he was doing and not just because it felt good to have someone, anyone, else's hands touching him for once instead of his own. Thomas wiggled up against that prostate once again, and stroked it just a few more times for John, got him to whimper for it again before he pulled his fingers out and John gasped with the relief as he also let go of his cock.

“Stay right there,” Thomas told him as John tried to roll over. “I'm not done with you yet.”

“Thomas, we shouldn't—holy shit,” John gasped as he saw the other male undo his pants and push them down until the biggest dick he'd ever seen just popped right out. “Well, where the fuck do you think you're gunna put _that_?” he asked, giddy as Thomas started to stroke himself. Fuck him, for all the shit he'd just given Thomas it would be his luck that the guy actually _did_ have a cock big enough to shut John right up about it.

“Hmm, where indeed?” Thomas cooed. “You wanna come take a taste first? You said you liked that, right?”

“I don't think you'll fit.”

“Don't worry about that, it's not your mouth I'm looking forward to being inside.” Thomas smiled and kissed John's lips before he could respond, stealing his senses with his tongue in John's mouth as if he could suck the words right away. He broke it off just as suddenly, asking, “So where do you want it first, in your ass or in your mouth?”

“Those my only choices?” John asked, his voice almost shaking.

“Well, where else am I gunna put it?” He put his hard erection against the side of John's hip and rubbed against it. “I don't need the foreplay with your mouth, but if that's what you want then suck as long as you like, John.” He kissed John quickly again, humping against him. “So what'll it be?”

“How-how about I play with you a little bit?” John suggested, hesitantly reaching for Thomas' cock. “Can I—can I just feel you with my hands a bit? Is that okay?” He was stalling. Hoping he could give a hand job good enough to get Thomas off without him needing to penetrate John. Thomas guided his hips up against John's hand, bucking into them with his dick already slicked with oil. John worked a nervous and quick pace, hoping he could get Thomas off, get him to just cum in his hand, just please, cum for him like this so there wouldn't be anything else that he wanted to do. But Thomas's put his own hand over John's and slowed him down.

“You're going too quick,” he said. “Slow down and feel it. We'll go faster later.”

“Oh, come on, don't you wanna get off?” John asked, squirming under the implications of Thomas's words.

“I'll get mine after you get yours,” Thomas said, kissing at John's neck. “And I gotta get back inside you to do that, don't I?”

John heard every No, Stop, and Don't in his own head, but with Thomas's dick in his hand and his mouth sucking out every protest through his own skin John didn't see anyway out of what was going to happen. Thomas was going to have his way with him no matter what John did, and if he tried to fight it there was a good chance it would hurt a great deal more than it had too. John trembled thinking of how much it would hurt to have Thomas shoving every single inch of that massive erection into his ass against his will, then pulling out and doing it over and over again. Right now, Thomas was acting at least considerate and John was scared that if he said anything now what little comfort he'd been allowed would no longer be offered. Better to lay still and get it over with, wasn't that always the case? Don't protest, don't cry, don't beg to stop, just squeeze his eyes tight and wait until Thomas was done, until he'd had his fun, pick up the pieces afterwards and hope he had enough of them to glue back together into a person.

Thomas was sucking now on John's bruised chest, sucking on a pert nipple and flicking his tongue over it. He caught the nub of it in between his teeth, and pulled gently, eliciting a wanton moan from John as he felt his body ache for it more. A thumb brushed over the other and he trembled under how much he wanted to beg for another pass. Thomas chuckled as he kissed back up to John' mouth, holding one of John's hands around his dick still as he worked it to become harder. “I can't wait to get inside you,” he whispered into John's ear and he shivered under him. Fingers found their way to John's mouth, he didn't resist as Thomas pushed them inside and he tasted the coconut oil they'd been coated in. “I know it's not my cock, but you can suck on these for a minute, okay? Yeah, just like that, good boy..”

Thomas continued to kiss John's neck and chest while making John jack him off. He wanted to bite the fingers in his mouth, he wanted to scream for help, god why wasn't he screaming for help? Finally Thomas seemed to have enough of John's hand and he pulled away, peeling John's pants the rest of the way down his legs as he did so, leaving him naked and bare. John glanced under as Thomas crawled back over him, seeing that erection that was waiting for him, terrified of what it would feel like. Thomas ran his hands up John's legs again and pushing his thighs apart. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, his hands hovering where John didn't want them, his eyes looking over the old wounds John hid there.

“What's on your legs?” Thomas asked him suddenly and John wanted to hit him.

“Scars.”

“From what?”

John wouldn't answer him. The scars were meant to keep people like Thomas away. People would see them, would see he was damaged, would see he was marred and imperfect, see the way he abused himself, see him as difficult, unloveable, too much damn work. And they'd walk away. They'd leave him alone. They wouldn't continue to stoke his hardening penis, they wouldn't run their hand over the uneven bumps of skin and tissue and send wave after little wave of excitement coursing through him. They wouldn't hurt him. They wouldn't _want_ him.

“You know, I care about you.” John hated the way hands slid up his legs as Thomas uttered the words. How he leaned in close to his face again. “You don't have to hurt yourself anymore, you have me now. Laf told me how he used to tell you he wouldn't fuck you if you cut yourself, but I'm not like that, okay?” A mouth kissed his own again, gentle this time. “I'm gunna take care of you.” Thomas murmured the words against his mouth and John's head spun at what they implied. That Thomas _liked_ him. That this was some convoluted attempt on the Virginian's behalf to _woo_ him.

“John?”

He let Thomas shift around him, trembling as he waited for the inevitable rape to happen, because no matter how gentle Thomas was with him or how much he claimed he might love him John still didn't _want_ -want it. Sure, he was having a _physical_ reaction but that didn't mean he wanted Thomas to follow through. Yet he waited to feel Thomas move his legs and push inside even as John cried and screamed silently for him to stop. He prayed to God for forgiveness, for strength and guidance as he felt Thomas pull out of his hands. He felt his whole body shaking from fear and he asked God why He kept putting John under these men who violated him over and over; was it truly his punishment for being wicked and gay? Was that the price he would pay for thinking he could have ever found love with another man, for having given himself freely to Lafayette?

“John?”

Hands caressed his face, and he knew Thomas was there just on the other side of his eyelids, looking down at him. Did he want to see John's discomfort so close? Is that what got this bastard off? Did he want another kiss? To steal away what few things John could still tolerate and taint them so he was even more broken then before?

“John, what's wrong?”

He broke. He couldn't hold his fear in any longer and John sobbed. “Please don't do this,” he begged, knowing it would be futile. “Please, please don't do this, Thomas.”

“Don't do what? John, will you look at me?”

“Don't Rape Me!!”

“What?” Thomas said, freezing under the weight of the word. John recoiled under him, fearing any retaliation and Thomas realized at once that this was not a joke. He'd crossed a line somewhere and what scared him even more was as he looked at John he also finally understood that he didn't even know where that line had been. “shit,” he whispered, pulling away from the other immediately. “shit, shit, shit....” He backed himself up into a corner of the truck bed and forced himself to take deep breaths, getting a grip on the panic he felt trying to rise in him. This wasn't about him. This was never about him.

John peeked at Thomas from where he lay, daring to push himself up after a minute of silence. He didn't know what to expect, never once thinking asking to stop would actually work, it had never worked before.... Thomas glanced over and John held still waiting to see what the verdict would be, was Thomas going to listen to him or was he just steeling his mind to drown out John's screams? Finally Thomas shifted and moved to the side, as if he was coming back and John put his head back down and closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands and hoping he would at least be allowed that. A moment later something dropped in his lap, a cloth of some kind. John peeked again to see Thomas pulling his own pants back up, tucking away his still semi-hard penis. “I'm gunna take a walk,” Thomas stated as he moved for the back of the truck, opening the window they'd crawled in and letting a flood of cold air in. “Five minutes, I'll be back. I'll take you home and you can stay back here til we get there, okay? You don't have to sit in the cab with me.” He disappeared out the window and shut it with a hard slam behind him. John waited until he heard his muffled footsteps walk away from the vehicle before he looked down and found Thomas's Letterman jacket laying over his lap.

He wasn't sure how long Thomas was gone. Long enough for John to sit up and find the shirt Thomas had helped him take off and put it back on. Long enough to pull his pants back up and fasten them again. Long enough to wipe the tears from his eyes and run his hands through his hair before pulling it back into a ponytail again. Long enough to find the second bottle of beer he'd been given and finish the rest of it, fishing out a third from the ice chest to sip on while he waited for the other man to come back. Long enough to smash one of the empty bottles on the side of the truck for a makeshift weapon in case Thomas came back from his walk with changed mind and an intent to finish what he'd started. Long enough that John could watch the sun rise over the college town below him, the dark space he'd wondered about only a few hours ago giving way to the forest that surrounded the town.

Footsteps moved back toward the truck. John watched as Thomas made his way around to the driver's side door and unlocked it with his keys. The truck started up a moment later, idling where they were parked for a moment and John assumed it was so Thomas could let the engine warm enough to turn on the heater in the cab. Then the truck pulled out and John sighed in relief as he watched the woods around them roll by.

The ride ended when Thomas pulled up to John's dorm. John never was more relieved to see the building then when he peeked out the side window of Thomas's truck and knew he was just a hop, skip, and jump away from getting to hide under the covers of his bed from this terrible night and the monsters he'd found in it. He threw open the window in the back and jumped from the truck bed, running right up to the house door before frantically patting himself for the keys that would let him in. He realized he'd left them in his backpack in the cabin of Thomas's truck just as he heard the truck door slamming shut behind him. He turned and saw Thomas carrying his backpack toward him, and he shook his head, telling himself to get a grip and move before his shaking legs gave out from under him.

Thomas met him in the front yard, holding out the backpack for John to take without having to come any closer then he wanted. He relinquished hold of it as soon as John had snatched it and even backed away while John quickly tore it open to look for his keys. John couldn't have been more grateful for the distance, but he completely missed the way Thomas kept watching him, worry etched into his face. He found his keys and hurried back to the front door, saying nothing more to Thomas in the process. “Hey John!” he froze as he pushed open the door, not wanting to turn and look at his almost-rapist again, but forced himself to do just that.

Thomas stood on the lawn with his hands at his sides, looking almost as tired and defeated as John felt. “I'm sorry, okay?” he said and John wanted to laugh at him. Sorry? He was _sorry_? Did Thomas actually think for one single second that was gunna make everything that happened tonight okay between them? “I didn't mean to...if I had known...I'm sorry...”

John was seething mad. Mad this had happened to him again, mad that the man who assulted him was standing only seven feet away, mad that he knew in the long run of things that he had no one he could tell without tearing his whole damn world apart in a way he never would. And for what? What did he protect by staying silent? His family's reputation. His father's ability to love him based on his own warped perceptions of John. Thomas's credibility. He was mad that he thought all of those things mattered more then his rage, more then the hurt he'd been put through. But he rounded on Thomas, dropping his backpack at the door lest he turn it into a weapon and attack. “You can take your apology and shove it up your own ass,” John spat into Thomas's face. “I'll never forgive you for what you just did to me, do you understand?”

Thomas opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but closed it.

John scoffed at him and headed inside, slamming the door behind him.

He was so glad his roommate wasn't in. The guy was probably staying at his girlfriend's apartment or some such bullshit, John could really care less. The point was that the small dorm room he had to share with the guy was blissfully empty and John could use all the space he could get right now. He dropped his backpack on the floor next to his bed and immediately started peeling off his clothes. He turned the shower on as hot as it would go, which was surprisingly pretty scalding, and then went to the sink to fetch his first aid kit. It was little more then a decent sized Rubbermaid container with an assortment of bandaids and some hydrogen peroxide thrown haphazardly in, but tucked away in one very particular box of bandaids was a small Altoids tin and he fished it out with shaking fingers. It rattled with the contents inside, the metallic sound of metal scraping against metal muffled only by the clutch of his hands.

His fingers pushed the the lid back, exposing the razors he kept inside. He carefully fished one out and held it between his fingers. The scars were supposed to protect him. He just didn't have enough of them yet.

The slices were long this time, he drew them out over as much of his skin as he could. He was going to do some damage this time, he was going to make people understand he wasn't something they wanted. He was going to get closer to his own terrible, treacherous penis, he was going to make it harder for anyone who wanted anything to do with that part of him to understand that they were dealing with something not meant for them. Something ugly. Something broken. Something incapable of happiness or love. Something that hurt itself to mend the pain inside and wasn't afraid of hurting them too. Something dangerous. Something feral. Something that wasn't afraid to be covered in blood. Something that wasn't scared to be covered in it's own blood.

The shower was too hot, it brought him to his knees. Or maybe it was trying to stand on injured legs, or maybe even the blood loss, John couldn't tell. But it felt cleansing, seeing the pink water wash away, feeling the sting of pain as his physical wounds allowed the emotional pain to weep from his body in a way that made him feel at least capable of still getting all his sadness out. He reached up and turned the water off when he felt like it was enough. Enough crying, enough bleeding, enough emotions drained away. He turned the water off and felt the emptiness inside, the void of love, the loneliness he would probably know for the rest of his life. He sat with it, embracing that mentality, letting himself be comfortable with it. At the very least, it meant one day no one could ever hurt him again. And one day maybe it would mean he could go to sleep and not have to worry about who would cry when he didn't wake up.

He waited too long and the red came back, too much red, dribbling down his legs. He turned the water back on, rinsed himself as he shakily pulled himself up. He wondered if he had enough bandages or if he'd finally have to make a call if he wanted to reverse what he'd done. Maybe tonight was finally the night he could say to hell with it and give his other plan a go.

Somehow he had enough bandages. He wrapped them all around each leg. He'd need to buy more though. He wouldn't have enough next time. Or maybe he would, if he didn't cut too much, too deep, too long. Maybe next time it would be the last time he'd have to worry about it. Or maybe he would buy more when he needed to change these ones.

Somehow he was tired even without his medicine. He didn't think he would need the extra dose. Doses. Dose. He only needed one. Should he take more? He only needed one to go to sleep. He needed more if he....Did he need more? Did he need more? Maybe he'd wait until next time. Maybe he'd wait and see if one did it. One dose, one pill, then he'd wait. How long? Thirty minutes, one hour? One hour. If he was still awake in one hour he'd take another pill. He'd take the rest of his pills if he was still awake in one hour.

There was a beer in his fridge and he cracked it open to swallow the one pill that would allow him to sleep. Just one. Should not be mixed with alcohol, but John did the research himself, it just made it work better. Or more. Or....something. John slept better at school when he could drink at his leisure. He swallowed his pill with a gulp of beer, already so tired, and ready to go to sleep. He just wanted to enjoy one simple pleasure, one quite moment alone, before he had to say goodbye. He'd say goodbye in an hour, if he was still awake.

Everything around him swam. Colors blurred, the room danced in hazy lights and he was only aware of how much his legs hurt until he sank into his bed and they dulled to a throbbing ache, an ache that matched the one in his chest, the cut on his hand. He felt a strong disconnect from himself that came in the weirdest sensation of being outside of his body and watching what he was physically experiencing as if it were happening to someone else. Part of him was worried; these swimming colors and sharp pains weren't normal for him, and he wondered for just a moment what the problem was. Too much blood loss? Too much alcohol? Maybe...maybe he really shouldn't have taken his medication after everything else that had happened. Or maybe he should have taken more of it...so it would work faster....one pill, wait an hour, say goodbye, then take the rest...

He wondered if he should write the note now or wait. He didn't want to do this, he just couldn't go through everything that had happened again. They'd know that, wouldn't they? They'd see the cuts, they'd cut him open and find all the pills inside. He'd text his mother that he loved her, he'd tell his father that he was sorry. Then he'd go to sleep. Whatever happened after wouldn't be his problem, it wouldn't be his problem to worry about, he would never have to worry again. One pill. Wait an hour. Say his goodbyes. Then swallow the all the rest.

He took hold of a blanket in one hand and rolled to the side, wrapping the comfort item around himself as he did so, making himself a blanket burrito. He barely heard his phone ping with a new text message, but he was too tired to care. John wouldn't know when he fell asleep, the darkness of his room was indistinguishable from his closing eyes and time wasn't something he could have kept track of if he tried. An hour came and went, and he never even lifted his head off his pillow. Sleep was a far better alternative then being awake.

He woke up.

Everything hurt and he felt too sick to get out of bed for his classes, but he was alive. So, he closed his eyes and hoped he wouldn't open them ever again. Of course he knew he wouldn't be so lucky, but with how much parts of him ached there was nothing else he felt he could do. He didn't want to move, he certainly didn't want to get out of bed. He wanted to stay buried under those blankets and pillows until his roommate couldn't bare the stench of his decaying body and reported it to the police, who would then rule his untimely demise a suicide and tell his parents their precious first born son had been too weak to do anything for himself including the bare basics for maintaining life as he let himself waste away for who knows how long it would take him to die off now, because he was so bad at doing anything right in life that he couldn't even fucking off himself proper like a real man, goddamnit. He wiped at his face with his own sheets and told himself that kind of mentality wouldn't help anything, not that doing that helped anything because it's just how he felt. He was allowed to just feel like shit, right? He was allowed to just be miserable...right?

John wasn't sure how long he drifted along the fine line of conscious and unconscious, but he was made aware of his phone pinging several times with messages and ringing a few times with calls. And also that his roommate was unhappy about this at first, until John took his phone off his desk and set it to silent, then buried it under his pillow. Then buried his face under the pillow with it. Then forced himself to just......go back to sleep because there was no way he was going to do anything today. He didn't care anymore. Didn't they understand that, whoever they were? John. Did. Not. Care. Anymore. He didn't care if his teachers failed him in every class. He didn't care if his dad lost his shit because he failed a semester of college. He didn't care if any of his peers would miss him when he was gone. He didn't care if Thomas came back and forced him to have sex with him. He didn't care if he'd wind up in hell, either because he was gay or because that's just what happened to people who spat in God's face and stopped giving a shit about their own life. He didn't care that his roommate was a loud obnoxious mother fucking hypocrite that bitched at John about his phone going off all damn morning, then crashed around the room as John was trying to sleep while he did god only knows what, then answered the damn door for whoever kept knocking on it and proceeding to have a fucking conversation.

“John, get up,” his roommate was telling him. “The police want to talk to you about something.”

Well.

Fuck.

John rolled over, not surprised to see their whole room a mess since the guy he lived with never cleaned, but damn....was it really this bad when John didn't even get out of bed? He forced himself to sit up, pushed his now even more unkempt hair out of his face, and yawned. His roommate excused himself from the dorm and stepped out into the hallway.

“John Laurens?” one of the officers asked and he nodded. They told him their names and he nodded. They told him the reason for their visit, a wellness check. They said it was called in anonamously but as John sat on his bed, still wrapped up in his comforter, and answered the questions they asked him he knew immediately who had asked them to check on him.

Where was he on the night of December 3rd? Could anyone varify the time he had left work that night? Had someone picked him up or had he walked home, who was it that gave him a ride? Did they go anywhere, stop someplace else before they came back to the dorm?

And then what happened?

“Nothing,” John said, his face a blank mask as he calmly looked between the officers standing in his room. “Thomas dropped me off here, little after three in the morning and I went to bed. I called off work the following day to recover from the fall I took. It wasn't anything major, I didn't think I needed to go to a hospital for it.”

“That's all?” one of the officers prompted him. “You sure nothing else took place?”

“He didn't take you anywhere else?” the other officer asked, giving John a scurtionus Look.

“No,” John said innocently. “There was no where else for us too go, officers. It was 3 in the morning. Is...Thomas in trouble?”

They shared a look between each other and one of them handed John a card. “If you...remember anything else, you can give us a call.”

“Okay,” John said simply. He got up and walked them back to the door, bid them goodday and locked himself inside as soon as they were out of sight. John spent another two hours laying in bed before he heard his phone ping and he glanced at it to see Thomas had texted him.

_Why did you lie to the police?_

John considered deleteing the text message the same way he'd deliberately deleted every other text message he'd gotten from Thomas since that night. But this time instead he simply typed out, ' _I don't want to see you go to jail_.'

_I was trying to do the right thing._

' _Little late for that, huh?_ '

_I wrote out a whole confession at the station and now they think I made the whole thing up. Why didn't you just tell them your side of it?_

' _I did tell them my side of it, Thomas. You're the one making up stories for attention. Nothing happened between us. You picked me up from work and you brought me back to my dorm. That's all that happened. What more do you want me to say?_ '

_Why are you protecting me?_

' _Because you're not the one who gets to decide how I want to live my life._ '

He noticed the unfinished bottle of beer he'd opened the night he'd gotten home. It was stale and warm but he hardly thought it mattered as he grabbed it and recorded a video of himself taking a long sip from it. He said nothing and had no expression on his face. 20 seconds long. John sent the video to Thomas and put his phone on silent. If Thomas had anything more to say, anymore questions to ask, John didn't want to hear it and he certianly wasn't going to answer them.

He got up, shucking the blanket off himself as he shuffled carefully toward the bathroom. If he wasn't dead, or going to die soon, then he was going to need to take a shower and change his bandages. Oh that's right, he needed more bandages. And the stupid dorm room needed to be cleaned, since his stupid roommate couldn't be bothered to do it. He should wash his bedsheets too. And he should probably eat something, as he hadn't done so since he crawled into bed. And he needed to email his professors about whatever assignments he'd missed and find a classmate he could borrow notes from.

He sank to the floor of the bathroom, feeling like it was all too much and he wondered how he'd ever even had the energy to do these things on his own. The floor was uncomfortable, and his body still hurt, but after a minute of going over everything in his mind he made a plan. He'd wash his face, check the wounds and, change his clothes if he could make it to the closet. He'd email his professors and a few classmates, eat a snack, and then he'd go back to bed. He decided he'd heal at his own pace, and if that meant putting off doing everything all at once then so be it. After all, Thomas had been right about one thing.

The sun comes up and the worlds still spins.


End file.
